


Fireflies in the Summer

by erinyanko



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Horses, M/M, POV First Person, Tsukishima is a cowboy so I think that counts as western (???), told from a horse's perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9194090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinyanko/pseuds/erinyanko
Summary: Request from Yuzuki_Kira  which ended being much longer than the oneshot I had originally planned (;;;     - u -)>Firefly didn't receive his name Firefly until he was sold into his final home. Firefly (back then named Blondie and among many other names) was born into a pleasant meadow and was one of the fortunate horses to only come into contact with a few nasty owners in his lifetime. During his stay in his second home, he was paired with a free-spirited black Friesian with a bad habit of biting and snapping. From then on, Firefly was rather unlucky as it seemed he was paired with this horse for life.The black horse seemed to hate every single human except for their final master, a young man with hair as yellow as hay.And a feline-faced black haired delinquent who happened to stumble onto their path during a usual stroll into the market and would later stay at their master's house and didn't seem to have any intention on leaving.





	

My first home was a large relaxing meadow with a small running stream that led to a large pond of clear water. So clear that during the summer time you could see all the small fishes and watch as they circle around the pond and each other. A large shady willow overlooked the deep end were water lilies grew and dragonflies danced in the summer time. There were hedges that surrounded the meadow and a bright white wooden gate. Over the gate was our master’s house and next to our master’s house was a large plowed field where he grew vegetables among other things. 

I don’t remember much about my first master except for his hands. They were rough yet there was a gentleness that could be felt in his touch. Strong hands that told the years of long hard labor out in the fields. He was a kind man and my mother would always tell me how fortunate I was to have such a kind master. I was still very young back then, so I lived mostly on my mother’s milk. Many of the other colts in the meadow were much older and often times I watched as they grazed and played with each other. Much to my frustration, I was told to stay close for I was much too young to play with the older colts. In the daytime I would run by my mother’s side and at night I would lay right next to her.

But of course, a colt could do _that_ for so long. I wanted to play! I did whatever it took to get my mother attention. I’d nudge her front legs with my head or dangle my front legs over her neck whenever she grazed on grass. I wanted to be like the other colts. Galloping about and playing games. When I would finally get my mother to stop grazing it was wonderful! Oh we would run in circles and circles around the meadow until I was tired out. Nothing feels as wonderful as laying down on soft sweet smelling grass after running one’s heart out. If one has never taken a nap on soft grass on a nice sunny day, they are surely missing out. There is something so relaxing feeling the warm sun against your skin and listening to all the whispers hidden in the blades of grass. The buzzing of bumble bees, the croaking of frogs, the whispers of dragonfly wings.

Yes, my first home was a paradise.

My mother and I would stay in the shade under the willow by the pond when it was too hot. My first experience of summer time was a rush. Oh it was so hot and I was so confused how no other horse was complaining! But I got used to it along with many other things. And in time, I grew to enjoy the summer heat. Nothing tastes as refreshing as a nice cold water on a hot summer day. Oh! And the watermelon! Sweet delicious slices of watermelon. So soft it practically melts into your mouth. And when winter came and the nights were cold, our master let us sleep in a nice warm barn near the meadow with all the other horses. As soon as I shed my foal coat and grew old enough to eat grass, I was put in the meadow with all the other colts and my mother went back to work. Our master would take her out in the daytime and come back in the evening. When she was not working, our master would sometimes put her with the other older horses. At first, I didn’t understand why our master was doing this. It seemed downright madness that one would separate a foal from its mother.

One day I asked my mother and she replied, “One day my love, when you are old enough you will be sold, and I will never see you again. That is the life of a horse and it is better that you learn how to be with other horses, so you will grow into a fine and good horse.”

I couldn’t complain.

There were seven other young colts and six adults besides my mother and me in my first home. The other colts were much older than I was, and some were nearly as large as the adults! So, you can imagine how elated I was when I finally was old enough to eat grass and was allowed to go play with them. And it was fun! Absolutely fantastic! We would gallop all together and race around the meadow round and round as fast as we could. Sometimes the other colts would start a rather rough play and would bite and kick to try to get ahead of the others.

One day when there was good deal of biting and kicking, my mother called to me to come to her.

“Pay attention to what I am going to say. While the other colts that live here are good colts, they will grow to be draft-horses but you, my son, are not. You are well-bred and well-born. Your father and grandfather both have won many race titles and have good respectable names. Your grandmother and aunt had the gentlest and most patient temper of any horse I have ever come to know. Your brother never kicked or bit and I’m sure you have never seen me take up such manner.”

I never felt so ashamed in my life. I remember looking back at the other colts who whinnied at me to come back to join them. It was tempting but I knew my mother spoke true.

“I hope that you will grow to be gentle and kind. Do your work with your head high and poised and never bite or kick even in play.”

I never forgot my mother’s advice.

I knew my mother was a wise mare. She was the oldest of the horses in the meadow and our master’s favorite. I don’t remember much of my older brother but according to our master and the other horses who have stayed long enough to know him tell me I look just like him. My mother said that our master was very fond of him and was sadden when he was sold. But my mother said that he was taken to a good place with a good man. I asked my mother if she was sad when my brother was sold.

“I was but most of us are not fortunate enough to stay in the same place for their entire life. Soon you will leave just like your brother.”

I couldn’t imagine leaving such a nice home. Our master was a kind and gentle man. He fed us good food, gave us good lodging and spoke to all of us in kind words. He never yelled nor harmed us in any way. And all of us were very fond of him but I think my mother loved him the most. She would nod her head strongly and neigh before galloping to him whenever he would stand in front of the white gate. It was the only time I couldn’t keep up with my mother no matter how hard I tried. Our master would pat her muzzle before running his hand up to her forehead. He would always say,

“Well ol’ Lady how are you today? And how is little Blondie?”

I was a light blonde, so he called me Blondie but his children (at least I thought they were his children) would call me Stockings by the white markings on my legs. He would always give me half of an apple while spoiling my mother with a whole carrot or a whole apple and sometimes even slices of watermelon. Whenever the children would visit, I was sometimes lucky to be fed maybe half of a carrot or a small handful of blueberries which were always very delicious. By the time my mother and I were finished eating our treats the other horses would come gather around all neighing or whinnying.

But I think we were our master’s favorites.

There was once a young boy, whose name slips from my memory now, who would frequently come to our master’s house to work on the fields. I don’t think plowing the field was such a tasking job because shortly after starting his work he would pluck blueberries from the blueberry bushes that were lined up on the other side of the hedge and just out of reach for the horses to try and steal a nibble. When he was full and finished sucking off the remaining juices from his fingers he would do what he called fun.

The older horses knew the signs and trotted into the farther side of the meadow, but the colts and I didn't know any better the first time. He would throw small rocks at us to make up gallop and laugh. At first it was quite a startle but by the second and third time we didn’t mind much since we could easily gallop away. But sometimes a rock would hit one of us and it would hurt.

The first time I was hit it was right on my thigh and oh did it sting. It hurt so much that it was the last time I would join the other colts in appeasing the plowboy’s play. As soon as I’d see the boy sit on the white gate, I would join the older horse and trot to the farther side of the meadow. Far away from the danger. The other horses would nicker and snort among each other displeased at how such a hurtful play could be enjoyable.

But one day the master was working in a field not too far like he usually would be any other day. But I could see him from the top of the hill that was in the far meadow and he was watching. As soon as the plowboy threw the first rock, the master walked with a speed I had never seen before. He grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him off the gate. When the boy was back on his feet, he gave the boy such a smack across the ear that we could hear his roar all the way from the other side of the meadow. Knowing that it was now safe, I trotted along with other horses to see what was going on.

Tears were falling from the boy’s face and the ear that was smacked was as red as the roses bushes that grew in front of the master’s house that the Misses was very fond of.

“Bad boy!” the master said, “Shame on you! You should know better than to throw rocks at the colts! This may not be the first time, but it shall be the last!”

He pushed some green leaves I had never seen before into the boy’s hand.

“Take your money and go home! I never want to see you on my farm again!”

We never saw that plowboy again and the boy that took his place, Alexander, was just as gentle as our master. Alexander was a quiet hardworking boy. He wore these small windows that were round and lined with black on his face that I later learned to be called glasses. He worked long and hard in the fields and when he was done he would lean over the gate. At first, I was quite hesitant to approach him like all the other colts. We were even more nervous when he would go to pluck blueberries thinking he would be just the same as the boy before him.

But he didn’t eat the berries.

Instead he stretched his arm out as far as it could over the gate and offered the berries to us.

When we realized that he would not hurt us, all the horses including myself grew very fond of Alexander. Especially Old Hercules. Old Hercules came in shortly after the first plowboy left. He was a retired racehorse and according to my mother and several of the other adults who knew of him said he was one of the best of his season. He was a deep brown like the mud that settled at the bottom of pond with a rich black mane. His coat would darken to a deep coal black starting that knees and his tail was so long that the ends would easily get picked up by the gentlest of winds.

He was a very handsome horse.

Some of the mares tried to strike conversation with him when he first arrived but quickly realized that he wasn’t much of a speaker and would prefer to keep to himself. But he was well mannered. He would greet and participate in small conversation when spoken to, but it rarely progressed from there. His speaking was short and to the point and he rarely talked about racing no matter how hard the colts tried to coax him to talk about it.

The only time he did talk was when one of the colts asked about the faint markings on his thighs.

“There are horses who have had it worse than me,” Old Hercules always spoke like a smooth gentle stream. “Pray you never have to feel the sting of the whip.”

The other colts didn’t seem to care much about the advice and carried on with their pretend races. Even some of the adult horses thought the same as well did I. Knowing that my father and grandfather were former racehorses I would daydream about the glories of being a racehorse. My mother thought different.

“I have yet to understand why men are so fond of the sport. I have heard many tales of men and horses hurting themselves and the life of a racehorse is short and though many horses are trained very few make it. They work the horses until they are spoiled and can no longer race. I pray you will never become a racehorse.”

Old Hercules was a wise horse and took his time getting from here to there. Despite his name, Old Hercules wasn't really  _that_  old, but he definitely acted like how I imagined an old horse would act. He was just old in terms of racehorses which confused me. I rarely saw him gallop or even trot. I guess all the running and racing tired him out. But he was fond of Alexander like my mother was with the master.

One day in early spring, I was grazing with the other colts down by the lower part of the meadow. There had been a little frost the night before, so a low light mist still hung over the meadows and the nearby woods. Old Hercules was the first to hear something because I remember seeing him dash to the gate and neighing for Alexander. I ran to my mother as soon as I heard it. The sound of dogs in the distance. The other colts bolted to the upper part of the field were most of the older horses were grazing and looked over the hedge to see what was happening. I was so confused as to why the other colts were so excited.

“The dogs found something,” my mother said softly, “and if they come this way, you will see the hunt.”

I remember looking down the hill to see Old Hercules. Alexander was with him and patting his muzzle. I had no idea what a hunt was, but I guessed it was something rather dangerous seeing how Old Hercules was persistent enough to get Alexander in the meadow. I didn’t stare at them for long because I soon heard the dogs. I watched as they burst out of the woods following a fox down the open field that was close to our meadow. Soon after the dogs came a group of men on horseback. All of them galloping as fast as they could and while the colts wanted to be galloping along with them, some of the older horses snorted as we all looked.

We watched as the horses were slowed and the dogs ran in every direction with their noses to the ground.

“They’ve lost the scent,” one of the older horses said, “perhaps the fox will get lucky this time.”

“All this for a fox?”

“A fox, a hare, a pheasant, dogs will find it and men will run after it.” Before the old horse could continue the dogs had found the scent and were back at full speed. They were making straight for our meadow! They were heading to the far part of the meadow where the stream met the high hedges. I went to look at where Old Hercules and Alexander were and found that Old Hercules had managed to get Alexander to a far and much safer corner of the meadow.

“Now we’ll see the fox,” my mother said and sure enough a bright orange fox wild with fear bolted through our meadow and ran straight for the woods. Soon after came the dogs. They burst through the hedges, jumped over the stream and ran across the field chasing the fox. The huntsmen came after, I watched in awe as all the horses jumped clean over the hedge. The fox had managed to squeeze under the fence and managed to get to the woods. The dogs were right on the fox’s tail and squeeze through the fence with ease. We watched as the huntsmen jumped clear over the fence. We couldn’t see what was going on in the woods, but all I could hear was the cries of the dogs. I heard a loud shriek and knew it was the end of the fox.

Many colts talked about how exciting it was to see the hunt so close and I was close to agreeing with them but my mother and many of the older horses disagreed. After the whole event had passed Old Hercules finally joined the group knowing the danger had passed and it was safe for Alexander to return to the fields.

“I’ve never understood why men are so fond of that sport,” Old Hercules snorted. “They hurt not only themselves but spoil good horses. They tear up the fields, yelling and shouting. Breaking, hacking and destroying anything and everything in their path. All for what? A hare or a fox or some other poor woodland creature.”

The other colts soon forgot about the whole hunt business and went back to their usual games. Sometimes they would try to grab Alexander’s attention by galloping and neighing, but it seemed that the boy was taken with the retired racehorse. One time of the colts tried to steal Alexander's hat but was immediately scolded by Old Hercules before the colt had even a chance to touch it. The master was even kind enough to let Alexander into the meadow after a long day’s work and he would sometimes give him treats to feed to the horses.

Most of the good ones were saved for Old Hercules.

I would see Alexander take a different book with him whenever he came into the meadow. At first, he would lean against the gate probably too nervous to go any deeper into the meadow but eventually he moves further in little by little. Eventually he would lean his back against Old Hercules’s stomach as they rested on top of the hill. Sometimes I could Alexander reading out loud to Old Hercules, but I don’t think the books he read were very interesting since they would both end fall asleep before he even finished the book.  

They made a good pair and Alexander was still working for the master by the time I was old enough to be sold. I was glad to hear in my later years that the master sold Old Hercules to Alexander when he had grown into a fine man. Old Hercules lived a long relaxing life of 40 years which is longer than any other horse that I have known.


End file.
